


Lavish

by Josselin



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6347161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to lavish attention on you,” said Damen. Lavish was such an interesting word, Laurent thought. There wasn’t really an equivalent in Akielon. They had words for extravagance, and words for generosity. But the sense of luxury and yet in a positive sense was not a concept that Akielons seemed to find much use for. Except, apparently, in bed.</p><p>Laurent tilted his head in Damen’s direction and arched an eyebrow.</p><p>Damen held his gaze easily. “Indulge me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavish

It was a typical evening. Laurent had finished reviewing the monthly books with the steward and retreated to his bedroom.

Damen had already retired, and was relaxing on the balcony holding a goblet. He turned when he heard Laurent enter, and took a sip. Then he set the goblet down on a stand, and stepped away from the balcony. 

“Laurent,” he said simply, and somehow his voice imbued Laurent’s name with meaning. A greeting, a recognition, affection. 

Laurent nodded in return, and sat on the bed to remove his own boots.

Damen seated himself next to Laurent on the bed. There was a quiet moment while Laurent continued undressing.

“I want to lavish attention on you,” said Damen. Lavish was such an interesting word, Laurent thought. There wasn’t really an equivalent in Akielon. They had words for extravagance, and words for generosity. But the sense of luxury and yet in a positive sense was not a concept that Akielons seemed to find much use for. Except, apparently, in bed.

Laurent tilted his head in Damen’s direction and arched an eyebrow.

Damen held his gaze easily. “Indulge me?” 

Laurent blinked, and then nodded once, slowly. 

He permitted Damen to take over his undressing. If Damen intended to lavish attention on him, his efficient approach to drawing free Laurent’s laces did not seem to yet indicate anything different. 

Damen dispensed with Laurent’s jacket, and moved to unbutton his linen shirt. Laurent watched his hands move on the fastenings.

After Damen pulled the linen over Laurent’s head, he did not move on to Laurent’s trousers. He turned to massage, instead. 

Laurent could hear a flute float in through the balcony, music from the lingering remains of the court reception in the garden. For the length of almost an entire melody, Damen caressed Laurent’s forearm gently, and then he moved his hands to run Laurent’s upper arms, and then to massage his shoulders. His touch was gentle, at first, just a light brush of skin on skin, and then his touch was more demanding on the tight muscles on the back of Laurent’s neck. 

Damen ran his thumbs up and down the line of Laurent’s shoulder blade, the pressure just on the edge of painful, and then Damen followed the same path with his lips, an even softer pressure. He kissed gently along the nape of Laurent’s neck, teasing gently at the bottom of Laurent’s hairline until it tickled and Laurent twitched.

It was not--unpleasant. Damen’s touch was gentle and his presence was soothing. Yet Laurent felt disquieted, somehow. Uncertain. 

“Is your lavishing going to lead to removing my pants?” He intentionally echoed Damen’s word choice from earlier in the evening.

Damen remained fascinated by the skin of his neck, still applying his lips with that slow caress. “Eventually,” said Damen, and when he spoke his face was close enough to Laurent that Laurent could feel the air move on the fine hair on the back of his neck. 

“Eventually,” said Laurent, aware that echoing Damen’s words was not necessarily the most sensible response, and yet finding himself saying it nonetheless. That happened, sometimes, that he spoke too much when he was distracted or overcome. Damen knew that, and he acknowledged it with a small smile Laurent caught out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t think,” said Damen. 

Damen’s fingers were resting gently on the golden cuff Laurent wore on his wrist. He found himself echoing Damen dumbly again.

“Close your eyes,” said Damen, and Laurent managed this time not to echo him, but he did not immediately close his eyes.

Damen held his gaze, waiting.

Laurent blinked, his eyelids closing, and then reflexively he opened his eyes again a moment later. Damen was still watching him, still waiting. 

Laurent closed his eyes again, and with a deliberate act of will he held them shut. He trusted Damen with his life, and yet somehow keeping his eyes shut and his breathing even was more difficult than permitting Damen to stand in between Laurent and a man holding a knife. 

The silence drew out between them. Laurent realized that he was holding his breath, suddenly, and exhaled quietly. 

“Good,” Damen said, quietly enough that his voice was just a breath of air. “Keep them closed.”

Laurent felt as though his other senses were sharpened with his eyes closed. He felt more attuned to the warmth of Damen’s body on the bed next to him, to Damen’s scent, to the timbre of his voice. 

Damen guided Laurent to recline on the bed. The sound of the sheets rustling seemed abnormally loud to Laurent as he settled his head against the pillow. Laurent could feel the give of the mattress against the pressure of Damen’s weight as he moved.

“Place your hands like this,” said Damen, and one at a time, he took Laurent’s wrists in his hand and moved them to lay above Laurent’s head on the pillow. Damen pressed them gently against the silk of the sheet. “Hold them there,” he said, as though he were asking something strenuous and not instructing Laurent to lay on the bed and keep his hands in one position.

It meant that there was nothing to think about. His eyes were closed, and he could only anticipate where Damen’s attentions would fall next based on the shift of Damen’s weight next to him. His hands were placed, and so there was no point in wondering if he should be doing something with his hands, or touching something, or holding Damen or reaching for him.

There was nothing to do except wait. To focus on the feeling of Damen’s hands and Damen’s lips. He thought that if he concentrated, he could tell where Damen’s calluses were on his hands just from the gentle press as Damen caressed the side of his ribcage. 

He felt differently suddenly. He wanted Damen with an intensity that was somehow new and almost frightening. He was not accustomed to wanting things with such passion, and the things that he wanted with passion tended to be weapons which were then turned against him.

He struggled to articulate his new feeling to himself. He had wanted Damen for many months, so it was not that it was new to desire him, or to think of his body in a sexual way, to contemplate it not just in the abstract, but in the specific. To think of Damen’s body in terms of not just its general capabilities, but in terms of what it might do _for Laurent._

If he had asked himself the day before, if it were possible to feel more for Damen, he would have laughed. And yet he somehow felt, with his hands caught and his eyes shut, that he did feel more. He hadn’t felt quite like this ever before. It had been--more cerebral. Now what he felt seemed inextricably linked to the physicality of this particular moment. He felt more. He felt more connected to Damen where Damen was caressing him. 

He felt more connected to Damen emotionally because it struck him in a sudden flash of insight that this physicality was _how Damen felt all the time._ Damen was kinesthetic, and his awareness was perpetually this. It was suddenly amazing to Laurent that Damen could be that way, and they had never spoken of this type of sentiment and yet Laurent was confident that he understood it now. He had insight into Damen that he had never before had, and he felt they were closer because of it.

He had to say something, though. Damen seemed determined to run his lips over every span of exposed skin on Laurent’s chest, and showed no sign of taking anything further.

“Fuck me,” said Laurent.

Damen did not interrupt the path of his lips, trailing below Laurent’s nipple.

“Later,” he murmured.

Damen began to unlace Laurent’s pants, and Laurent thought he understood, now. He knew that Damen was weak to his voice and his commands, and Damen enjoyed fucking him, and Laurent could remember in a visceral way the urgency with which Damen often approached penetrating him.

Damen dragged his pants down his legs and Laurent could hear the fabric fall off the side of the bed. 

“You are doing so well keeping your eyes closed,” said Damen, and he truly sounded proud, as though it were a significant accomplishment.

Even once Laurent’s lower half was exposed, Damen did not seem to be thinking of sex.

He continued his massage, with firm pressure on the arch of Laurent’s foot, the taut line of his calf. Damen lingered over the tendons in his hips, using his thumbs. Laurent could feel the strength of his hands as he worked the muscles. The touch was firm, and the position of his hands was intimate, but Damen did not seem to be purposefully arousing. He could not be ignorant of the effect his attentions were having on Laurent, given that his hands were only inches away from Laurent’s erection, but his hands stayed chaste.

Damen began again to use his lips. He traced his mouth over Laurent’s abdomen. Laurent’s breathing was deep enough that his skin brushed against Damen’s stubble when he inhaled and then was left untouched when he exhaled. Damen drew lines on Laurent’s stomach with his tongue. When his mouth moved from one side to another Laurent could feel the wetness of his mouth drying in the path it left behind.

Laurent attempted a new tactic. “Suck me.”

Damen brushed his cheek against Laurent’s stomach. “Is that really what you want?” 

Laurent nodded his head. “Yes.”

Damen’s face was so near to Laurent’s erection. Laurent could feel the weight of his head against his stomach and the brush of Damen’s hair against his skin.

Suddenly he moved his hand. It wasn’t a movement he had intended, and yet one second both of his hands had been motionless resting against the pillow above his head, and then a second later one of them was tangled in Damen’s curls. 

Damen shifted slightly and breathed warm air over the head of Laurent’s cock. 

Laurent moaned. He didn’t recognize the sound he made. He wasn’t sure that he had ever made that particular sound before. 

Hearing it loosened his tongue. He begged.

He tried to tell Damen everything. He told Damen that he had never felt like this before. He told Damen that sometimes he felt that Damen had broken something inside of him and he could never be repaired. He said that he wanted Damen more than words could contain. And that he wanted him physically. He wanted Damen to suck him--he wanted that desperately--and yet at the same time he wanted for them to be kissing, and for their bodies to be joined intimately. It was not sufficient that he could have all of those things in sequence, he wanted them simultaneously, and that was what Damen did to him.

Damen took Laurent’s cock within his mouth, and the warm wetness was almost too much. Laurent could not silence himself. He babbled about how Damen made him feel.

He moved his hand from Damen’s hair to the side of Damen’s cheek, and felt his own cock within Damen’s mouth. He traced his fingers along the line of Damen’s lips.

He wanted to see, suddenly, and then he opened his eyes, as well, and blinked and then lifted his head to look down his body and see Damen laving him. Lavishing attention on him.

He was watching Damen suck him and yet it was still sometimes hard to believe that Damen would do that. That Damen had done it and was doing it now and would do it again if Laurent asked. Some part of him found it unbelievable even as he traced his finger along Damen’s lips.

“I can’t believe you would tolerate it,” said Laurent, marvelling.

Damen pulled off for a moment, swallowing. “Tolerate it?” He said. “I love it.”

Laurent relaxed his head back down to the pillow. Sometimes Damen said things which did not make sense, and Laurent was not in a state coherent enough to even try to talk about it. “Please touch me again,” he said. 

Damen returned his mouth to the head of Laurent’s cock. 

“Touch me--inside,” Laurent instructed.

This type of desperate instruction was not typical. Laurent would encourage Damen, sometimes, when they were intimate, if Damen were lingering or asked a question. But the breathy voice and the need it expressed were part of this new feeling he had. 

Damen lifted his head slightly and sucked on one of his own fingers, and then he lowered his hand again, and it disappeared from Laurent’s view, and then he felt the wetted finger circling at his entrance. 

Laurent raised the hand that was still pressed against the bed above his head to his own lips, and licked one of his own fingers, sucking on it briefly, Damen looked up with interest. And then Laurent lowered that hand to where Damen was working, and, going by feel, placed his finger alongside Damen’s.

Their fingers curled together in the tight darkness of Laurent’s body. He had a sudden wish that their entire bodies could be as intertwined as their fingers were in that moment, and he said as much to Damen, who hummed an acknowledgement around where his mouth was still busy with Laurent’s cock. 

Damen’s finger was within him and Damen’s mouth was on him, and Damen’s still-clothed lower body was pressed up against his leg, and yet he felt that they were not close enough. They could never be close enough. 

Laurent wanted everything at once again. He told Damen as much. He wanted that first moment when Damen entered him and the stretch as he accommodated Damen’s girth, and yet he wanted simultaneously the movement that came after they had been fucking for a while and had found each other’s rhythms and were fitted together so closely. 

He wanted them to be fucking slowly, the sleepy slow roll of hips that Damen sometimes found in the early mornings when they awoke together. And yet he wanted also the brutal way that Damen sometimes took him when he was excited, such as when they sparred together in the ring and Laurent fell on his back and Damen followed him down onto the sands.

He had somehow thought for most of his life that fucking was for the pleasure of the one who did the penetrating. That when he found pleasure in being fucked it was somehow an abhorrence, shameful. Something to be denied. 

He needed to explain this to Damen. “I like it,” he said, words failing him.

“I like you abandoned,” said Damen. “I like to bring you pleasure.”

Laurent tried to explain more clearly. “I like when you are inside me,” he said. 

Damen crooked his finger, which was still buried inside Laurent, and Laurent moaned again. “When you make love to me,” he tried to explain.

Damen’s voice was very deep. “I like that also.”

The sensations were overwhelming and he couldn’t explain. He shifted his own finger again, and then Damen moved as well, as though their fingers were dancing together as a caress to the inside of Laurent’s body. He abandoned trying to use words to explain. “Please,” he said, and Damen applied his mouth once again. Laurent was so close to finishing. 

“Please,” he repeated. Perhaps Akielon was better. He switched languages. “Please,” he said. The Akielon word for please translated literally to Veretian as “I beg of thee” and Laurent felt that he might be begging for something; the word was appropriate. “Please, please.”

And when he finished, Damen was there, moving up the bed to wrap Laurent in his arms and hold him together while he fell apart.

**Author's Note:**

> [All of the author's Captive Prince fanfic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin/works?fandom_id=3516977), [come follow me on tumblr](http://josselinkohl.tumblr.com/)


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